


Mexican Radio

by Shapooda



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Organized Crime, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 00:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shapooda/pseuds/Shapooda
Summary: Ichigo and Grimmjow are on the run from the law and Aizen with nothing but the heat and their sparkling personalities for company. Heat brings out the crazy in people.





	Mexican Radio

**Author's Note:**

> Mucho thanks to PrincedesSables for editing and amusing me with commentary. They helped fix my brain scrambles, and with this summary; they are a lifesaver.
> 
>  

 

\--- xxx ---  
 

“I feel a hot wind on my shoulder

And the touch of a world that is older

I turn the switch and check the number

I leave it on when in bed I slumber

I hear the rhythms of the music

I buy the product and never use it

I hear the talking of the DJ

Can't understand just what does he say?”

\- Mexican Radio, Wall of Voodoo

 

\--- xxx ---

 

 

“I’m  _ not _ staying here, and I’m  _ not _ going back the way we came,” Ichigo announced.

 

“You’re overreacting,” Grimmjow growled.

 

Ichigo gave a look full of indignation. “There was  _ duct tape _ on the wing.”

 

“Give it a rest, we're alive aren't we? Let's see  _ you _ dig up a pilot willing to take us to Mexico in a few hours.”

 

“ _ I'm _ not wanted,” Ichigo snapped.

 

Grimmjow laughed, a loud, untamed thing that turned heads on the sleepy street corner. “Not by the cops you aren't.” 

 

Ichigo scowled, because he'd set himself up for that. It still stung––hell, it only happened a few days ago––and would for a while, so of course Grimmjow was going to heap salt into it, it just who he fucking was. He jumped all over weakness like a lion.

 

Ichigo was dripping sweat, raking his hand through his hair to brush off tacky skin. He growled, “It's hot.” He lowered his bag down off his shoulder and fanned himself with his own damp shirt. “Aren’t you  _ hot _ ?” Grimmjow merely looked tastefully sweaty, the asshole. If he looked behind him and saw that he’d stumbled into a photoshoot he wouldn’t be surprised.

 

Grimmjow said, “Ya didn't have to wear a suit, dumbass. You knew where we were going.”

 

Ichigo scowled at him, because the other man was wearing a lightweight suit of his own, but was seemingly unbothered by it. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t thoughtfully consider my choice as I ran from _ a fire _ . This is  _ literally _ all I own.”

 

Grimmjow snorted. “ _ I _ ain’t the one that firebombed your house.” He doubted anyone around them spoke Japanese, their conversation was safe as if they were alone.

 

Ichigo saw the sign for the building Grimmjow mentioned; El Toro. The name was scratched and faded and had clearly once been red. “Don’t pretend to be innocent––shit.” His foot caught on the edge of a small wooden curb and he tripped into the shade of a rickety looking overhang made of rusted corrugated metal.

 

“Don’t  _ kill yourself, stupid _ .”

 

Ichigo shot him a glare and said, “Can we go  _ thirty minutes _ without replacing my name with something derogatory?”

 

Grimmjow pushed back his sleeve to check his watch and shot back. “Then stop being a dumbass.”

 

Ichigo resigned himself to that and griped, “Is there water in this hellhole? I'm going to pass out.” He threw his bag with his pittance of belongings into the leg of a chair and flopped back into it like he'd been shot dead. He grit his teeth, then sank into with a groan. The dingy plastic chair protested this, but put up with it.

 

Grimmjow scowled and spat, “Yeah go ahead and make yourself comfortable, princess.”

 

Ichigo hung his head off the back of the chair and raised his hand in a rude gesture. 

 

Grimmjow snorted, but went over to the little stand, covered top to bottom in years of chipping and fading gang tags and vulgar phrases. He gave the man a bill for a couple of warm bottles of water from a cooler and returned to the small plastic fold out table to toss one at Ichigo. He threw it at his head, but Ichigo's reflexes weren't as damp as his shirt and his hand snapped up to catch it. 

 

Setting his own water down, Grimmjow shrugged out of his jacket and tore off his shirt.

 

Ichigo untwisted the cap on the water and watched him. He asked, “What are you doing?”

 

“Cooling off, stupid.”

 

Squinting in confusion, Ichigo watched Grimmjow shrug the jacket back on over his bare chest. “You took off the shirt, but you left the jacket. Fucking  _ why _ ?”

 

“One of us has to look classy. You look like a body they dragged out of the bay.”

 

Ichigo scowled, but he wasn’t entirely wrong, he wasn't built for muggy heat like this, and upon closer inspection, he figured Grimmjow just didn’t want to be sunburnt.

 

He hadn’t ever seen Grimmjow shirtless before, and fuck him, he wasn’t going to stare, but he quickly found an excuse to. His eyes lingered on a necklace; a sharply stylized six cut out of some dark metal, with a jawbone that appeared to be carved of actual bone obscuring the bottom half of it. 

 

Grimmjow carefully sat in an opposing chair, looking a little silly sitting in something that must have been meant for a person at least a foot shorter than him and fifty pounds lighter.

 

Grimmjow opened his water and knocked it back, chugging all of it in one go apparently. Ichigo watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down, tracing a line of water, then looked away at something less interesting. 

 

“What is that?” Ichigo asked.

 

Grimmjow finished off the bottle and crushed it. “What is  _ what _ ? Be a little more specific, Kurosaki.”

 

Ichigo jerked his head in Grimmjow's direction, eyes locked on the necklace. “That.”

 

Grimmjow looked down like he'd forgotten he was wearing it, then his expression changed, something torn between aggression, hate and regret. “I was the sexta Espada, what do you think it is?”

 

“I thought you hated Aizen.”

 

The look Grimmjow shot him was murderous, but it wasn’t a fury entirely directed at Ichigo. It was a fire that burned for someone else, Ichigo recognized that look. Grimmjow’s answer was stiff. “That hasn’t changed.”

 

Ichigo weighed the pros and cons of asking another question, but he was exhausted and hot, so he asked, “Then...why keep it?”

 

“A reminder,” Grimmjow said. He let his head fall back, shoving his hands in his pockets and closing his eyes, effectively shutting down the conversation. 

 

Ichigo frowned at him then took the opportunity to pour some water on his head, torn between drinking the rest of it or bathing in it. 

 

Back in his own thoughts and his own personal hell, Ichigo’s mind wandered to practical matters. He had a grand total of 10,000 yen to his name, and he had a feeling it was next to useless in this place. Grimmjow had paid with American money, and Ichigo had no idea how much he had left, but it couldn’t be much, not after he’d given their pilot what looked like 20k of dirty money.

 

Looking across the table at Grimmjow, Ichigo waved away a fly, the metallic rattle of a fan inside the stand the only sound outside of a creaking door somewhere in the distance. It smelled like the ground itself was burning and it felt like dust was stuck in the back of his throat, acrid and sour. This wasn’t home, this was some god forsaken desert in the middle of nowhere. He had no idea where the fuck they were––they were so fucked. 

 

It must have been showing on his face, because Grimmjow drew his attention back. “Stop freaking out.”

 

“I’m not freaking out,” Ichigo argued. He was just lamenting the loss of his life; his job, his friends, his family. All several thousand miles away.

 

“You are.” Grimmjow said flatly. “Cut it out.”

 

Ichigo bit back an immature response, his eyes landing on a man a few yards away leaning on a fence. They had been staring at them since they sat down, and they didn’t look friendly. “Do you even know where we are?”

 

“Of course I do.” Grimmjow looked at him, apparently aware he stuck out. “You know you look like a cop.”

 

“Sorry,” Ichigo snapped, “Funny story, that.” 

 

Grimmjow ignored that and circled back to his original thesis. “Well ya aren’t anymore, we need to find you something else to wear.”

 

“We need to do that regardless,” Ichigo said, “or I'm going to die of heatstroke.”

 

“Just take the fucking jacket off.” Ichigo thought he might get away with out another insult, but Grimmjow tacked it on after a pause. “Dumbass.”

 

Ichigo leveled a hard look at Grimmjow and said, “I don't want to.”

 

“So you'd rather get heat stroke,” he deadpanned. “You pass out, Kurosaki, an’ I'm leavin’ you here. Don't blame me when you wake up without a kidney.”

 

“First of all, that's not funny, and second of all, I don't want to.”

 

Grimmjow snorted. “What, are you  _ modest _ ?”

 

It was too hot for a blush to even show up on his already flushed cheeks, but he was shit at lying. Grimmjow's brows shot up in surprise. “You can't be serious.”

 

Ichigo flung out an excuse like cheap confetti. “All I had time to grab on my way out of my  _ burning house _ was a jacket. I  _ sleep _ in this shirt.”

 

“Kurosaki,” Grimmjow chided, “ain't anyone out here going to give a shit.”

 

“ _ I _ care, okay, asshole?” Ichigo grumbled, “Feels weird to traipse around half naked.”

 

“I’m sorry to break this to you, Kurosaki, but sleeveless isn’t half naked.”

 

“You’re right,” Ichigo said, gesturing flippantly at Grimmjow’s bare chest. “ _ That’s _ what that looks like.”

 

Grimmjow shrugged. “Just because  _ I’m _ not willing to suffer.” He added loudly, “And then whine about it.”

 

“This is all  _ your _ fault, you fucking deserve it,” Ichigo growled.

 

“ _ All _ my fault?” Grimmjow let his head roll back, rocked by that accusation. He let out a bark of hedonistic laughter. “That’s rich, comin’ from you, Kurosaki.” Ichigo just looked at him, brows drawn in a scowl, so Grimmjow kept going. “You think it’s smart to cross both the authorities and Aizen? Did you think nothing would happen?”

 

“So I was supposed to do nothing?”

 

Grimmjow scoffed, “Yeah, that reporter whore––”

 

Ichigo’s hands tightened into fists.

 

“––Wasn’t worth the phone call to report her missing.”

 

Ichigo lunged, but from the fire in Grimmjow’s eyes, he was waiting for it when he opened his mouth. Ichigo got in a hit on his face, but he used his dominant arm without thinking and despite his rage and determination, his arm crumpled like an accordion. 

 

Grimmjow hit him in the ribs, and he doubled over, pain blinding him for the instant Grimmjow needed to throw him to the ground. Ichigo felt new pain explode over old pain and he just glared up into cold blue eyes with clenched teeth and a groan. 

 

Grimmjow leaned in close and hissed, “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. If I didn’t owe you a goddamned favor, you wouldn’t even be alive, Kurosaki.”

 

“Fuck you,” Ichigo wheezed.

 

Grimmjow narrowed his eyes, and Ichigo honestly thought he’d hit him again. Grimmjow finally looked away, the moment passing them by, and got a handful of Ichigo’s shirt to haul him to his feet. Throwing him back into the dingy chair, Ichigo grit his teeth through a new wave of pain. 

 

Grimmjow looked him over in disgust and took his own chair, looking stubbornly justified. “You hit me harder.” Like that was justification. 

 

Ichigo sat up straight, which was a chore and a half and panted, “You fucking deserved it. Inoue isn’t a whore.”

 

Grimmjow looked like he was battling with another insult, then settled back and looked away, simmering but unwilling to pursue the argument. 

 

Ichigo was already nursing a headache, and getting thrown into the ground did nothing to help the pain he was already in. He’d already eaten a handful of pills on the plane just in case things went South, but it was wearing off. He’d stolen naps along the way, but he’d come to the rude awakening that it was Tuesday, and he’d been on and off airplanes and risky transportation for something like 42 hours. 

 

Ichigo rubbed his forehead and tried not to lift his hand to his side. “Who are we waiting for anyways?”

 

“A guy,” Grimmjow answered.

 

A guy. There was always a guy.

 

Ichigo closed his eyes and sighed, letting his anger go. Grimmjow always did that; He riled him up, he wanted him to lash out. Ichigo found that he always complied, even when he knew what the man was doing. 

 

Lately, Grimmjow backed off first, and Ichigo didn’t know what that was. The ‘why’ with Grimmjow always baffled him.

 

Why did that blue haired asshole come for him? Everyone was out for his blood, it was an unnecessary risk.

 

Why.

 

Ichigo was absolutely exhausted. He hadn’t realized he’d dozed off again until Grimmjow kicked the table with the grind of plastic on cement. Ichigo snapped awake, reaching for a gun he didn’t have, adrenaline surging. Grimmjow gave him an unimpressed look and said, “Get up, princess, time for business.”

 

It seemed he had a new pet name, and Ichigo found he liked it a lot less than ‘hey stupid’. Ichigo had no idea what Grimmjow meant, so he got up, dizzy with adrenaline, and saw that Grimmjow was with someone new. A shorter, heavier man with a cowboy hat and dusty jeans that scowled at him from above a moustache. The pair talked in Spanish, and the man started to walk away, Grimmjow in tow. 

 

Ichigo took a step, remembered his bag, snatched it, and jogged to catch up, despite the stain it put on his battered body. Getting kicked down a flight of stairs fucking hurt, he made a note to never do it again.

 

The man led them down dusty streets to what looked like a shed next to a goat pen. Ichigo followed and was basically ignored, even inside in the gloom of the shed. It smelled like earth and animals, something Ichigo didn’t smell often, and hated now as much as he did the first time.

 

Streaks of light cut through broken slats and illuminated the briefcase the man lifted onto a small work table. Ichigo caught on quickly enough when the man opened the case. Oh. Guns.

 

He really should have known.

 

The two talked, argued, and Ichigo realized they were haggling. Haggling over illegal guns, why was he not surprised?

 

Ichigo tuned the pair out, cautious, but disinterested, until Grimmjow looked at him and said, “Oy, princess. You get a revolver or nothing at all.”

 

“Do you see me complaining?” Ichigo growled.

 

Grimmjow finished his ‘transaction’, shoving a wad of cash at the man in the tan hat. Grimmjow handed Ichigo a well used revolver and belt, implying he should wear it  _ now _ . Ichigo asked, “Aren’t there...y’know...laws?”

 

“ _ I told you,”  _ Grimmjow reiterated, “I got friends.”

 

Ichigo frowned and looked at the belt. The stranger nodded in what looked like encouragement and said, “Tiburóna.” Ichigo frowned harder and looked at Grimmjow.

 

Grimmjow translated, “Shark.”

 

Thinking about this, Ichigo realized he was essentially accepting a gift from a gang. Probably a big one, if they could stand up to Aizen enough to shelter his enemies and offer them weapons. It was the very fact any sort of help was being offered at all. If or when Aizen found out, they would become a target too. This was getting out of control. 

 

Grimmjow urged coldly, “ _ Take it. _ ”

 

Ichigo looked up at the man, sweaty and dusty and hot and tired, and wondered if this was a mistake. Those sharp blue eyes stared back, closed off and cold. What the fuck was he doing? He fled the country, with a  _ criminal _ . What the fuck would his family think when they saw his face plastered all over the news? _ Local detective flees country with wanted murderer and drug lord, suspected cartel ties.  _

 

He just kept getting sucked deeper and deeper, he didn’t think there was a way out of this. 

 

When he didn’t move, Grimmjow scowled, reaching out and taking Ichigo’s arm, and shoving the gun in his hand. “You’re taking the gun, Kurosaki.”

 

“I’m not a criminal,” he said dumbly.

 

Grimmjow scoffed. “Nobody cares. Do you want to live?” Grimmjow drew his hand back and repeated what he said, his tone less harsh. “You’re taking the gun.”

 

So he took it. He held it awkwardly in his hands and the man in the hat left, leaving them alone in a sticky, dank shed. Ichigo looked at it like it was a viper, and slowly and methodically put it on. Grimmjow had a regular handgun, albeit an old one. The ex-Espada shoved it in the back of his pants, checking it was loaded first, and tossed a box of ammunition at Ichigo before he was ready to catch it.

 

Hand shooting out as he fumbled with his bag, Ichigo caught it and snapped, “Do you have to throw  _ everything _ ?”

 

“Just checking that you’re paying attention,” Grimmjow said. He leveled an assessing look at Ichigo, and in the dark, surrounded by swirling golden dust motes, he cast a frightening silhouette.

 

Brows furrowing, Ichigo hid the ammunition in his bag and shouldered past him, but Grimmjow caught him by his bicep before he could reach the door. Grimmjow squeezed hard enough to aggravate a festering bruise, fingers digging in deep. Ichigo winced and said, “Let go.”

 

Grimmjow watched him through narrowed eyes and said, “You know you already chose a side, don’t you?”

 

“ _ Let go _ .”

 

Grimmjow held him tighter, his arm throbbing with pain, and the ex Espada said, “Aizen  _ will _ kill you.”

 

“I know!” Ichigo snapped. “I know...You think I don’t  _ know _ ?”

 

“So stop pussyfootin’ around, Kurosaki.” Grimmjow let him go. “You’re in it.”

 

Ichigo hadn’t ever felt the weight of a gun like he did in that moment. He was in it up to his neck, and there was only one option. Get rid of Aizen.

 

Shouldering out of the shed before he threw up, Ichigo scattered a cluster of chickens and stomped through the weeds back to the road. Grimmjow was right behind him, and when Ichigo stopped, having no idea where the fuck to go, Grimmjow took the lead.

 

Following the man in silence, Ichigo would have considered murder for a shower. He didn’t feel like death, he felt like he was in  _ hell _ . In hell with this blue haired demon that for some reason stuck his neck out to save him.

 

The wind blew, hot and muggy on his skin, and Ichigo didn’t think he could feel worse. He warily eyed the people they passed, but none bothered them, they only stared, unfriendly eyes following them all the way to a small white walled house.

 

Grimmjow knocked, exchanged a few words, and the elderly woman stepped aside, a little too eager to let them in. It didn’t sit well with Ichigo, but what would he do? Refuse? He didn’t even speak Spanish.

 

Ichigo swayed on his feet, and Grimmjow noticed, those blue eyes tracking his every movement like a predator. Ichigo knew he shouldn’t let that weakness show, but he was having a hard time beating it back. 

 

Ichigo saw what looked like actual concern draw those stupid blue eyebrows together. “Oy, Kurosaki.” A strong hand pushed down on his shoulder and his knees buckled, sending him into a perfectly good chair. “You stupid shithead, did you actually give yourself heatstroke?  _ Christ _ .”

 

Ichigo winced and lifted his hand to his hand. He said, “I don’t know, but I feel like shit.”

 

“Yeah, _ no shit _ ,” Grimmjow snapped.

 

Grimmjow exchanged some words in Spanish with the woman and reached for his jacket. Ichigo’s hand shot out and caught Grimmjow’s wrist, panicked. “No.”

 

“Dumbass, are you going to let the fucking  _ sun _ kill you? The jacket comes off.”

 

Kill him...huh. Ichigo let go, wondering if it was really that bad. Grimmjow’s hand looped around the back of his neck and his palm was disgustingly hot, pulling him forward off the back of the chair so he could shirk his jacket off. Grimmjow hissed in both disgust and sympathy, probably getting a good look at the bruises leftover from a trip down the stairs without using his feet. 

 

Ichigo looked down, and saw that he was indeed sporting some nasty looking purple bruises like experimental tattoos. They looked a lot worse than they felt, but that might just be because his body had new priorities. 

 

Grimmjow hissed, “Stupid asshole. Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Ichigo didn’t have an answer for that. He watched as Grimmjow pulled out a knife and literally tore his shirt off. Ichigo protested weakly, “Hey.” 

 

The woman was back, and he tensed up entirely when he saw that Grimmjow had a whole pot of water. He dumped it directly over Ichigo’s head, and he was struck with irony over the fact that it might cost his own murder to get him that shower he wanted.

 

Coughing through water, Ichigo realized his pants were wet. No shit his pants were wet, he got a bucket of water dumped on his head, but now he felt marginally better. The water had been cold in comparison to the hell he was suffering through, and it felt pretty good, so he couldn’t really complain. 

 

Ichigo swiped a hand over his face, wrinkling his nose in disgust when he tasted the salt of his own sweat on his lips. Grimmjow asked again, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Like you give a shit,” Ichigo muttered. Grimmjow said nothing, so Ichigo looked up, unsure what he was reading in those cold blue eyes. There was a time he thought Grimmjow would kill him without a second’s hesitation, but that just wasn’t true anymore. 

 

Crouching to meet his eyes, Grimmjow asked a different question. “Who did this?”

 

That, Ichigo could answer. He curled his lip in a sneer. “ _ Nnoitra _ .”

 

“That one-eyed son of a,” Grimmjow straightened with a snarl and kicked the table. “BITCH!” It went sliding back with a loud shriek.

 

The woman yelped and Ichigo snapped, “Grimmjow!” Ichigo might feel like shit, but he didn’t want to scare this woman more than she already was, and overheated or not, he couldn’t abide Grimmjow doing it either.

 

Grimmjow turned, pacing like a trapped animal, and when the woman didn’t move, Grimmjow shouted at her in Spanish. She hurried away, for what, Ichigo didn’t know.

 

Ichigo could feel his heart pound, but it wasn’t out of fear. His vision swam, so he closed his eyes, voice tight. “ _ Grimmjow _ .”

 

“What?!” Grimmjow roared. “What  _ the fuck _ do you want, Kurosaki?!”

 

Ichigo’s voice was low, like he was calming a skittish animal. “Relax, Grimmjow.” He blinked, and found Grimmjow’s hand around his throat, shoving him back into the table. Ichigo bared his teeth in a grimace and choked, “Relax.”

 

His hand was feverish against his skin, but Ichigo thought that might just be him. Fingers rough and calloused on his neck, Ichigo wasn’t afraid like he thought he should be. Looking back up into wild blue eyes, he finally saw what he’d been missing. 

 

_ Fear _ . 

 

Grimmjow was afraid.

 

Ichigo had been caught up in his own fears and worries, but it was easy to forget that Grimmjow’s entire crew was dead, he had  _ no one _ . No one but him.

 

The ex-Espada’s grip on his throat loosened, and Grimmjow hissed, “You don’t tell me what to do,  _ you _ don’t control me.”

 

Brows furrowing, Ichigo didn’t follow Grimmjow’s logic. “I don’t...Grimmjow, there’s no one to fight. Relax.”

 

Grimmjow stared at him, blinked, and slowly let go, his eyes roaming over Ichigo’s chest, his arms. Ichigo offered pathetically, “Not all of it was Nnoitra. The stairs did a number on me.”

 

“Stairs,” Grimmjow repeated flatly. 

 

Ichigo shrugged. “He pushed me down the stairs.” He reached up to prod his neck, finding Grimmjow’s grip hadn’t been as hard as he thought. “Hurt like a bitch.”

 

“I’m going to kill him,” Grimmjow hissed. He turned a sharp circle, lacking anywhere to go and anyone to hurt. 

 

The woman came back with more water, and Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut when Grimmjow unceremoniously dumped it over his head. Grimmjow exchanged more words with her, then crouched in front of him to take his wrist in hand. Ichigo frowned down at him, then realized Grimmjow was taking his pulse.

 

Now he really was soaked through, but he was feeling a lot better, and he saw the lines of concern on Grimmjow’s face. “Why do you care?” Ichigo asked again.

 

Grimmjow didn’t look up. “Ain’t anyone else in this boat but me an’ you, Kurosaki.”

 

That wasn’t an answer. Ichigo just sighed and let his head fall back, trying not to fall asleep. He must have failed, because Grimmjow was slapping his cheek likely a moment later. “Oy, can’t sleep yet.”

 

“What?” Ichigo slurred. 

 

Grimmjow snapped in front of his nose and his eyes focused on blue. Grimmjow said, “Drink, or we’re going to have to set up a crude IV.”

 

That would be bad, he knew all about IVs. Those were for sick people. “I’m not that bad.”

 

“Kurosaki, I haven’t seen you eat in 2 days, you’ve barely drank anything, and you haven’t slept. I’m shocked you’re alive.”

 

“I didn’t?”

 

“No, stupid,” Grimmjow snapped. He held out a glass, dark green and full of what looked like water. Ichigo’s lips were dry and burned and it sounded lovely.

 

Ichigo stared into the glass, his thoughts stuttering over a single fact; Grimmjow paid attention to him enough to notice. His eyes flicked back to Grimmjow’s face. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

Grimmjow flushed, eyes widening, and didn’t answer. 

 

Reaching out, Grimmjow shoved the glass into Ichigo’s hand, and when it slipped, he held on, his hand covering Ichigo’s, still too fucking hot. Ichigo drank all of it, even if it was slow going, and the next glass, and the one after that, before he turned Grimmjow down, a small shiver wracking his shoulders. 

 

Grimmjow smiled, the first real smile Ichigo had ever seen on his face. It was weird, but not unpleasant, it merely left Ichigo wondering what to do. Grimmjow stood, exchanged some more words with the woman, and gestured. “Get up.”

 

Using the table as a crutch, Ichigo struggled to his feet, glaring at Grimmjow when he took a small step closer to help. Following the wall and Grimmjow as a guide, Ichigo made it to the side room with a single, small bed draped in colorful blankets. “There’s only one bed,” Ichigo said, feeling it was really redundant to say. 

 

“No shit,” said Grimmjow. Neither of them moved, and Grimmjow said, “You’re going to put your ass on that bed and sleep, Kurosaki.”

 

Ichigo swayed on his feet and undid the gun belt, draping it on the bed first. Like hell was he sleeping without a weapon.

 

When Grimmjow made no move to leave or do anything at all, Ichigo looked back at him and said, “I’m not stripping down with you hovering like a nursemaid.”

 

“And if you pass out and give yourself a goddamned concussion? Just take the fucking pants off.”

 

“No.”

 

“No?” Grimmjow raised a brow and took a step into Ichigo’s personal space. “Off.”

 

Ichigo didn’t think he’d get them off without some effort, so it was both embarrassing and aggravating to need someone to hover to watch him struggle. It was all self inflicted, but fuck him if he was going to ask for an audience to his struggle. 

 

Grimmjow reached for him, and Ichigo took a step back. Grimmjow’s hand caught in the waistband of his pants and Ichigo blushed, protesting. “Hey.”

 

Leaning in, Grimmjow hissed, “Pants off, Kurosaki.” Accentuating his point, he tugged his fingers downward, his clothes sticking to damp skin, cool and uncomfortably itchy. Ichigo wanted them off, but with Grimmjow  _ right there _ ?

 

Grimmjow leaned in, close enough that Ichigo’s eyes flicked between the left and the right, struggling to keep him in sight. “I can do it,” Ichigo offered. That sounded really pathetic, he didn’t know why he was giving in.

 

Ichigo’s eyes flicked to the open door, and back to Grimmjow. The woman was gone, but it was  _ weird _ , he wasn’t going to undress in an open house. Grimmjow rolled his eyes and backed up, his eyes never leaving Ichigo’s. He shut the door, his palm splayed over the wood, and fixed Ichigo with a look that made him feel trapped when it was finally shit. 

 

It was still uncomfortably hot, his head was still swimming, and he was stuck in a room with Grimmjow. Why, why, why, indeed.

 

Sitting roughly on the end of the bed, Ichigo had decided that standing and pulling his pants off would only compromise his dignity further when he inevitably fell on his face. Wiggling his pants off, Ichigo felt very, very vulnerable in nothing but boxers. Grimmjow crossed over to him, tugging his pants down from his knees to toss them against the far wall. Ichigo realized he was breathing hard when Grimmjow remarked on it. “Why are you so scared?”

 

Ichigo looked at him in outrage, kicking at his nose in nothing but his boxers. Grimmjow caught his foot before it could connect, damn him, and Ichigo ranted anyways. “I’m in  _ hell _ ! It’s fucking HOT, my house is gone, my dog is probably dead, my family probably thinks I’m dead, and I’m stuck here with  _ you _ !”

 

Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger. Ichigo tugged his foot, but Grimmjow didn’t let him go. Shifting his grip to Ichigo’s ankle, he tugged off his sock, tossed it, then got the other one. He held his ankle hostage and said, “Your feet stink, Kurosaki.”

 

Ichigo yanked his foot, but he might as well have stuck it in a bear trap. “Then don’t put your face in my feet, asshole!”

 

“You had a dog?” Grimmjow asked, completely changing the subject.

 

Ichigo growled, “I am half naked on a bed in MEXICO. I am not telling you about my dog.” Ichigo glared, and Grimmjow smiled. “What’s so funny?”

 

“If you can get that riled up, you’re probably going to be fine.” Grimmjow decided to let his ankle go free. “Dumbass.” 

 

Ichigo lowered his leg and growled, “I think I can manage.”

 

Skepticism shadowed Grimmjow’s face. “I don’t believe you.”

 

Fresh outrage lit up Ichigo’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“You’re not going to take the boxers off, are you?” Grimmjow said. A flush brightened Ichigo’s cheeks, caught, and he actually felt the difference on his face. “You really are modest. Have you never been in a locker room? Christ, Kurosaki.”

 

“It’s different,” Ichigo said.

 

Grimmjow gave him a flat look. “Is it? I mean the goods are covered, but I’m pretty sure you don’t have a pussy under there.”

 

Ichigo blushed harder.

 

Grimmjow said, “So what’s the big deal? You’re not going to sleep in wet underwear, even if  _ it is _ an oven outside.”

 

“It’s you,” Ichigo said.

 

Blue eyes widened. “Me.”

 

“I am  _ not _ sleeping in this bed naked,” Ichigo said.

 

“Didn't take you to be a blushing virgin.”

 

“I’m not a virgin.” Ichigo realized how lame that sounded out loud, groaning and falling to his back on the bed. 

 

“So what's the problem?” Grimmjow asked. He just kept digging deeper. Ichigo wanted him to stop, and a part of him wondered what would happen if he didn't. 

 

Looking up, Ichigo realized Grimmjow had gotten closer, and he’d just thrown himself into a compromising situation. Grimmjow’s expression twisted. “You’re scared of me.”

 

Ichigo looked back up at him, level and unblinking. “I’m not.”

 

Grimmjow’s expression caved in on itself into something sickened. 

 

Why did he give a shit?

 

Instead of leaving like Ichigo expected, Grimmjow sat next to him, the bed creaking under their combined weight. He sat with his back mostly to him and said, “This is fine, right?”

 

For a moment, Ichigo didn’t know what he was talking about, then he remembered; boxers. He watched him for a long minute, then kicked out of them, still not keen on the idea of Grimmjow staring at him. The cotton blanket was scratchy and harsh, and he couldn’t very well use it as a shield when his ass was pinning it to the bed.

 

Ichigo looked back at Grimmjow, seeing now how tired he was. Those swaths of turquoise under his eyes concealed it, but the man was drained.

 

If Ichigo was being honest with himself, it had less to do with being buck ass naked and more towards adding to his vulnerability. A radio turned on in the other room, tinny and hissing with white noise, but the music was easy to distinguish through the walls. 

 

The sudden lack of silence made Ichigo braver, it helped quiet his own thoughts.

 

Grimmjow leaned forward to stand, and Ichigo stopped him with a word. “Wait.”

 

The ex Espada waited, settling back down on the bed to listen without turning around. Ichigo said, “You came back for me.”

 

Ichigo stared at Grimmjow’s broad shoulders as the ex Espada spoke. “Couldn’t have your dumb ass getting killed.”

 

“Why me? Having me around only makes your life harder.” As if these people were thrilled to have a cop––ex-cop––around. Rukia and Renji might have saved him from Nnoitra, but Grimmjow saved him from Aizen. 

 

“Maybe I wanted someone to watch my back,” Grimmjow said.

 

Ichigo hadn’t forgotten about Grimmjow’s crew, he couldn’t, not after they had attacked his friends. They were all dead, and he’d never even known if Grimmjow gave a damn. It seemed like he had. Ichigo asked, “How did you know that I would?” 

 

“Because you’re a dumbass,” Grimmjow said. “You wouldn’t stab someone in the back, not even me.”

 

Not even.

 

Ichigo almost protested, but Grimmjow was right, and he knew putting Grimmjow to his back wouldn’t be a risk, not outside of a fight. “ _ I’m _ supposed to kill you,” Grimmjow growled.

 

“Well that’s a problem,” Ichigo said. Grimmjow glanced back, but his eyes were locked on Ichigo’s, they didn’t sink lower, and Ichigo decided to allow it. “Because I don’t think I want you dead.”

 

Grimmjow’s eyes weren’t cold now, they burned like the fever under Ichigo’s own skin. Neither said a damn thing, as the ex-Espada twisted, his hand lifted for Ichigo’s throat, cautiously, his eyes watching Ichigo for a response. 

 

Ichigo didn’t move, he let him touch, the pads of calloused fingers smoothing along the tender flesh beneath his jaw. It was bizarre for Grimmjow to bo so gentle, Ichigo almost felt offense. “I’m not fragile.”

 

“You’re human too,” Grimmjow said, as if that explained everything. “I wanted you dead...once.” Then what had changed? Ichigo didn't know, but it might have started when Grimmjow had a gun in his face and didn't pull the trigger. That might have been why Ichigo had purposefully destroyed evidence, why he'd omitted things from reports that could have gotten him thrown in jail. 

 

Grimmjow's face twisted into a grimace. “Don’t be so stupid, Kurosaki, don’t do this again.”

 

“I didn’t exactly enjoy it,” Ichigo said. After a brief moment of thought, he added, “I’m still not enjoying it.” He could do without the pounding headache. Grimmjow hadn’t taken his hand back, it lay still on the hollow of his throat. Ichigo wasn’t sure what made his heart pound. Grimmjow’s proximity to his throat, his exhaustion, or something else entirely.

 

Grimmjow dropped his hand lower, but kept contact, his fingers sliding down over Ichigo’s chest along a path unmarred by bruises. Ichigo said, “You don’t scare me.”

 

Like his voice broke a spell, Grimmjow’s fingers flinched back. “Don’t I?” Grimmjow said. He sounded unconvinced, and with the way the ex-Espada’s touch made him shiver, Ichigo could understand why he thought that. 

 

Grimmjow turned, bending to stand, and Ichigo lunged, hooking his arm around Grimmjow’s middle to hold him in place. It didn’t really work, Grimmjow was still temporarily stronger, and Ichigo ended up with his face in Grimmjow’s back when he tried to stand. No, that was his ass.  _ Smooth, Ichigo. _

 

Grimmjow sat back and twisted to look at him, a brow raised. “The fuck, Kurosaki?”

 

Ichigo gave his arm a rough a shove and emphasized. “I’m  _ not _ scared of you, you asshole.” That mattered to him, and it wasn’t some macho competition fuel, he needed Grimmjow to know that.

 

“Do you want me to stay, or leave? Make up your fucking mind, Kurosaki.”

 

Ichigo gave him another shove of irritation. “Stay!”

 

Grimmjow looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Okay then, Kurosaki, you’re not scared.”

 

“Sound more convinced,” Ichigo snapped.

 

Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed and he said, “I couldn’t even toss you peanuts on the plane ride here without you acting like I’d throw a knife at you.”

 

“Cautious isn’t the same thing as scared,” Ichigo defended.

 

For a moment Grimmjow stared at him, then shrugged. “Fine, whatever Kurosaki, ya ain’t a pussy. Noted.” He made to get up again and Ichigo grabbed a fistful of his jacket.

 

Grimmjow whirled. “ _ Christ _ , Kurosaki!”

 

Ichigo didn’t give it much thought, his head hurt too much for things like thoughts, but if Grimmjow was going to pussy out, he was going to do  _ something _ before he ended up dead. 

 

Ichigo lunged into Grimmjow and kissed him. It was far from romantic or comfortable, they were all teeth and Grimmjow was all shock. Ichigo’s tongue ran along his lower lip and teeth, his chest pressed uncomfortably into Grimmjow’s shoulder, his elbow digging into a battered rib. It wasn’t even sexy, but Ichigo was touching him, that was the goal, and he’d done it.

 

Ichigo didn’t linger in that clumsy kiss, he leaned back, his fingers uncurling from Grimmjow’s jacket. The ex-Espada just stared at him, stunned speechless or too angry to speak, Ichigo didn’t know, and he didn’t care. His lip stung and he reached up with a thumb to swipe at it. It came back bloody, and he realized he cut himself on one of their teeth. That was fun,  _ more _ injuries. 

 

Ichigo looked up into shocked blue eyes and growled, “ _ Now _ you can go.”

 

That prompted Grimmjow to move. Ichigo found himself flat on his back, Grimmjow’s hand back around his throat, teeth bared in a snarl. “Are you mocking me?”

 

Ichigo stared up into blazing blue eyes and wondered why he thought he should do this  _ naked _ on a stranger’s bed. He blamed the heat, the joke that was his life, and he scratchy cotton blanket at his back, but most of all, he blamed Grimmjow. 

 

Ichigo grabbed Grimmjow’s wrist, and choked through the hold on his throat. “Fuck you.” Grimmjow actually loosened his grip so he could talk, how thoughtful. “Do you know how many times I lied for you, how many laws I broke for your stupid ass? I destroyed evidence for you! I committed  _ felonies, _ because I didn’t want to see you in jail,” Ichigo squirmed, shoving his hand up underneath Grimmjow’s chin in an attempt to push him back. “You  _ stupid _ asshole.”

 

Grimmjow leaned his head back out of Ichigo’s immediate reach, but his arms were long enough that Ichigo didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell to push him off. Even if Grimmjow’s grip on his throat was loose, Ichigo didn’t want to have this talk flat on his back and naked. 

 

Looking down at him, Grimmjow asked him, confused, “You broke the law for me? Why?”

 

“You have to be  _ kidding _ me, was  _ that _ not answer enough?” Ichigo gave up trying to push Grimmjow off and lifted his hands in his face with an aggravated groan. Grimmjow’s hand disappeared, and Ichigo felt Grimmjow take his wrists to force his hands off his face. Grimmjow stared down at him, brows drawn tightly together like he couldn’t quite figure it out.

 

Ichigo stared back. “I’ve had two very long, very disappointing days, Grimmjow,” he sighed, feeling genuinely honest in his suffering, “but they weren’t lonely.” 

 

Blue eyes blazed down at him, and didn’t let Ichigo in, they locked him out along with everyone else. Grimmjow didn’t say anything; he was so hard to read. Ichigo struggled not to look away and spoke a bit more softly, too exhausted to be angry anymore. “Sorry if I misread.”

 

Grimmjow’s eyes narrowed and he leaned in, flattening Ichigo’s wrists to the bed. That should have been unnerving, but Ichigo didn’t care, he wasn’t planning on getting up again anyway. 

 

Grimmjow caught Ichigo’s lips in a kiss that was much more appealing than the first, his tongue tracing his lower lip, sucking his nicked lip hard enough to sting, enough that Ichigo’s lips parted with a small sound of protest. Grimmjow took advantage, his tongue slipping into his mouth.

 

_ Oh _ .

 

Grimmjow’s tongue down his throat, Ichigo tuned back in to the radio echoing beyond the door, wondering why in Gods forsaken name he chose to zero in on that. Something far too happy with trumpets and lots of shouting cut through the static and the quiet of early afternoon. He felt the sharp edge of leather from his newly acquired gun belt cutting into his bicep, reminding him just what the fuck he was doing in Mexico to begin with. 

 

Turning his head away, Ichigo broke their kiss and started to laugh, too exhausted for the ful laughter he felt he needed. Grimmjow spoke through his pity party with something like concern. “Is your brain fried?”

 

Ichigo chuckled and ran his hand over his face, his hysterical humor deflating into misery. “No, I just hope I don’t die before I can enjoy…” He gestured vaguely between them, “whatever  _ this _ is. I feel like trash.”

 

Grimmjow sighed, then really looked at him, as if realizing that Ichigo was naked. “How trash?”

 

Ichigo said, “Enough to reconsider my sanity for kissing you  _ right now _ .”

 

Grimmjow smiled, that savage, arrogant smile that made Ichigo want to elbow him in the face. “So you’re only shy for  _ me _ ?”

 

“I’m not  _ shy _ ,” Ichigo growled.

 

Grimmjow needled at him. “What was so bad about taking off the boxers then?” Ichigo flushed, feeling sunburnt from the force of it. Grimmjow was emboldened by this, smiling wider. 

 

Grimmjow dropped his knee against his groin with just enough pressure to make Ichigo wish he was doing something else. Ichigo bit his lip, feeling this situation was unfair. “Hey. You’ve seen mine, when do I get to see yours.”

 

“Eager?” Grimmjow teased.

 

Ichigo snorted, “I’m all about equal opportunity.”

 

“Uh huh,” Grimmjow said. He rolled off him and shrugged out of the jacket, tossing it carelessly on the floor. “Well if for some reason we end up in a firefight, I’d prefer at least one of us be wearing pants.”

 

“I second that,” Ichigo said, watching Grimmjow pull the gun from the back of his pants. “Where are you going?”

 

“Don’t panic, princess,” Grimmjow drawled. Ichigo frowned, and Grimmjow made a shooing gesture. “Scoot over.”

 

Ichigo sat up, his head swimming. “There’s barely room on this thing,” he said.

 

“ _ Make _ room,” Grimmjow said. “Until we get you some painkillers, you’re a liability.”

 

“It’s not that bad,” Ichigo protested. “You don’t need to protect me.” Grimmjow narrowed his eyes at him and pushed his upper arm, shoving him into the wall with a surprisingly gentle amount of force. Ichigo winced. “Ow.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Shut up, Kurosaki.” Grimmjow laid down on the bed on his back, setting Ichigo’s gun on the nightstand behind him and keeping his on the bed within arms reach. Ichigo was smushed between Grimmjow’s bulk and the wall, scowling down at him when Grimmjow tossed him a smirk.

 

Ichigo scowled, “Hell no, I’m not spooning you like a two dollar whore.” He wiggled around to put his back to him and his nose to the wall.

 

“That’s cold, Kurosaki,” Grimmjow sassed.

 

“You’re hot,” Ichigo complained. “I’m still hot.”

 

“Whose fault is that, princess?”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Ichigo said absently.

 

“Suit yourself, dumbass.”

 

Ichigo snapped, “ _ Goodnight _ , Grimmjow.”

 

“It ain’t night,” Grimmjow said.

 

Ichigo wasn’t feeling very witty. “Shut up.”

 

Grimmjow cackled, and despite how annoying it was, it was also sort of pleasant. As pleasant as chaotic joy could be. He talked a lot of shit, but it felt good to have Grimmjow at his back while he slept. If there was one person he could trust in this hell, it was that hothead right behind him.

 

Ichigo listened to the rolling r’s of a language he didn’t understand and the metallic snap of a lighter flicking open and closed. That room smelled different and alien, and Grimmjow reeked, but he also smelled like cigarette smoke and heat and that cheapass cologne he bought, and that was good enough to lull Ichigo to sleep.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  



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